


Taboo

by Jennie_D



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Season 3, Wildling Culture & Customs, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: He looked at Tormund’s broad shoulders and large hands, at how he moved while lifting logs over to the bonfire. At how he seemed to take the weight effortlessly, at how his muscles strained the heavy furs he wore."I didn’t know you liked it both ways, Jon Snow, but I can’t say that I’m upset.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Ygritte, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 125





	Taboo

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little melancholy bit written for the Missing Scene Day of Jonmund Week, it's supposed to take place in early season 3 when Jon has infiltrated the Free Folk camp, before they climb the Wall.

Jon’s muscles strained under the weight of the bear carcass, but he held steady. 

The work in the Wilding band was never done. There was always food to catch, camp to set up, as they continued in their seemingly endless march towards the Wall. Jon had never known such hard, constant work in his all his life. And yet, he found it unusually satisfying. 

He found a lot about life with the Wildings unusually satisfying. 

He’d been traveling with them, spying on them, for about a month now if the moon could be trusted. How odd it was, to tell his time by the moon and his place by the stars. 

Life was hard, but felt precious, more immediate, as they struggled together to survive in the cold. Jon almost found himself liking the camaraderie that seemed to come from this shared work. Was trying to accustom himself to the easy conversation and laughter that sprung from a life without station, without lords and peasants and bastards. 

He’d felt awkward at first, pretending to be one of them, pretending to share a common cause. But he felt this life was coming to him easier and easier, becoming as familiar and welcome as the cold clear air breathing into his lungs. 

Jon caught sight of Ygritte, bow slung across her back, arguing with Orell about some nonsense. He grinned despite himself, watching the passion with which she argued, the way the fading light caught her braided hair.

There were many things Beyond the Wall he’d grown to like.

These thoughts distracted Jon from the load on his back, and he staggered a bit, lost his footing in the snow. As he struggled to right himself, to not crash to the ground, he suddenly felt the load become lighter. 

“Need a little help, baby Crow?” The booming voice of Tormund Giantsbane filled the icy air. Jon’s face was already flush from the cold, but he felt a blush heat his cheeks nonetheless. 

“Just lost my footing. I’ve got it.” Jon tried to take the full weight of the carcass back, but Tormund held steady.

“No need to carry the load alone if you don’t have to.” The Wildling’s voice was firm, insistent.

Jon relented, allowing Tomund to help him carry the meat. The Wildling talked to him, teased him as they walked, his voice a pleasant distraction from the weight at Jon’s back. Once, only a few weeks ago, Jon might have found himself indignant and sputtering at some of the Wildling’s words. But now, oddly, a smile lit his lips. 

The teasing from Tormund didn’t feel like the derision he’d borne as a bastard all his life. It didn’t feel like the sneers of Theon Greyjoy or Allistair Thorne or his father’s bannermen. There was cheer in Tormund’s voice, and good will. His light teasing somehow felt like camaraderie, like fellowship, like friendship.

The snow crunched under Jon’s furred boots as his feet grew weary. The sun dipped lower and lower in the sky. Soon enough, Tormund determined they’d come to a good spot to camp for the night, and his voice boomed out in the cold air, calling their band to a halt. 

Jon and Tormund dropped the bear carcass heavily in the snow. Jon stretched his spine and rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his burning muscles.

Tormund was considering the dead bear with a critical eye. “You bring this beast down, baby Crow?”

Jon nodded. He and Ygritte had killed it that morning. They’d come across it while hunting elk, only sheer dumb luck had lead them across a bear instead. He still felt a stab of fear when he thought on how the creature had roared as their arrows pierced it's hide. “Aye, Ygritte and I killed it together.”

Tormund hummed approvingly. “Not a bad size. Maybe you’ll be one of us yet.”

Jon couldn’t help but feel proud at this statement. He knew he wouldn’t be staying with these people, knew he must return to his brothers. But the thought of doing well here, of pleasing Tormund, was oddly satisfying.

“You and Ygritte should break the beast up,” Tormund declared. “We’ll eat some of it now, but cut the rest of her to put on sleds in the morning. No knowing when we’ll see hunting this good again.”

Jon nodded, drawing a large bone skinning knife from his furs. He dropped to the snow, kneeling beside the carcass. 

“Oh,” Tormund said suddenly, unlashing massive leather straps at his shoulders. “Get started breaking this one down too. I’ll be back to help in a bit.”

Tormund lifted a large doe that had been strapped to his back in the air and threw it beside the bear, before walking off to help get a bonfire going.

Jon found himself staring after Tormund. He hadn’t realized the Wildling was carrying a full grown doe on his back as well as helping with the bear. And yet Tormund barely even seemed tired. Jon was impressed with the Wildling’s sheer strength. He looked at Tormund’s broad shoulders and large hands, at how he moved while lifting logs over to the bonfire. At how he seemed to bear the weight effortlessly, at how his muscles strained the heavy furs he wore.

“Well, I didn’t know it were like that, Jon Snow.”

Ygritte’s voice sounded close in his ear. Jon jumped and turned quickly, surprised that she’d managed to sneak up on him. She started to laugh.

“Oh if you could see the look a shock on your face, Crow-”

Jon huffed. “I was distracted.”

“Aye, I can see that. I didn’t know you liked it both ways, Jon Snow, but I can’t say that I’m upset.”

He looked up at her face. There was mischief in her eyes, sly hunger tugging at her lips. She looked like she wanted to find the nearest cave and...Jon found himself blushing. 

Then her words caught up to his brain.

“Liked both ways of what?”

Ygritte’s grin grew wider. Her voice dropped into a playful whisper. “If you’re worried I’m jealous, I’m not. I’ve heard Tormund’s a fair lover, and it’d be grand to take a turn with both of you together.”

Jon’s mind was still trying to catch up to the words dropping from Ygritte’s lips, was still stuttering and catching on possibilities. “What...wait...what?”

Her voice dropped lower still, “Or if you’d prefer him to take you alone, I’d like that too. So long as I get to watch sometimes. I’d love to see you look all flushed and pretty under the Giantsbane.”

His face burned with the insinuation. When his voice returned, his words were rushed, harsh. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ygritte sat back on her heels, confusion creasing her eyebrows. “I’m talking about the way you were looking at Tormund just now. You want him, yeah?”

Jon did not know it was possible for his cheeks to get redder, but they did. “You think I - I _favor_ him? The way a man would favor a woman?”

“The way anybody favors anybody. Sorry if I got it wrong, just the way you were staring after him just now-”

“I can’t _favor_ Tormund,” Jon cut in, sputtering. 

“Why not?”

“We’re both men.”

“So?”

“ _So?_ So it’s...it’s illegal!” 

Ygritte rolled her eyes. “You know nothing, Jon Snow. Do you see any fancy southern laws written down up here?”

Jon stared, incredulous at how casual she was being about something so forbidden. “But the gods - the gods say we can’t.”

Now it was Ygritte’s turn to look incredulous. “Which gods?”

And Jon found himself speechless. The gods of the Seven forbid such things, forbid them harshly. But the Old Gods, his gods...Jon had always assumed they’d forbid them too. But would they? The laws of the Old Gods weren’t written, they were simply felt, believed. And the Wildlings followed the Old Gods too. So if _they_ believed two men could care for each other in that way without sin-

A weight so old Jon didn’t realize he’d been carrying began to lift from his shoulders. 

Some pain must have showed on his face, because Ygritte’s expression turned kind. She drew close to him, put a soft hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Jon. I didn’t want-”

“No, it’s alright I just…” Jon trailed off, struggling to find the words. Ygritte waited with him, in the silence. 

“It’s just, at home, men who love each other in that - in _that_ way - they’re executed. So I didn’t realize - I thought it’d be the same here.”

There was anger on Ygritte’s face now, blazing behind her eyes. “That’s cruel,” she spit. “You damned southerners are so damned-”

“Ygritte,” he cut in quietly. “I know. I know it’s cruel.”

It was odd knowing, odd admitting that something of his home was truly terrible. Yet he’d never forget the stab of fear that ran down his spine when Theon teased him for being a pillow biter, an old fear that had chased him throughout his childhood, throughout his time at the Wall.

Ygritte’s eyes had turned kind. “Well, if that is ever something you want to look into, Tormund’s not a bad one to start with. I hear he’s very considerate. And I can be there, just to encourage you, if you like.”

Jon dropped his eyes, feeling his face flush yet again. He knew he should say _something_ , but no words would come to his lips. 

She seemed to take pity on him, sensing he needed to be alone for a moment. “Let me see if I can find us a larger carving knife, we’ll never cut into the old bear with that bitty thing.”

Ygritte stood, brushing a soft comforting hand across his curls as she left. He stared after her for a moment, then drew his gaze to Tormund again.

Maybe, maybe he could ask. Ask if they could try it, just once. After all, he was supposed to be one of the Free Folk now, and this is apparently what the Free Folk did. Cared for and loved one another, freely.

Tormund caught his gaze from across the clearing, firelight dancing in his beard. He grinned at Jon. 

“Need something, baby Crow?” Tormund’s voice rang through Jon’s ears, his call thundering across the camp.

Jon’s stomach flipped. Maybe…

It would be so easy, so easy to truly pretend he belonged here. That he had no concerns but loving those who loved him and helping his band survive the winter. 

But he wasn’t one of them. Not really.

Jon had a job to do, a job he must do. And he couldn’t let himself draw in further, couldn’t let himself forget that everyone he loved here he was honor bound to betray. He’d taken his vows, had said the words. He couldn’t break them now.

He shook his head and broke Tormund’s gaze. The distant line of the Wall loomed large on the horizon.


End file.
